


Underneath

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9300629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: Belle's not quite so innocent curiosity is thoroughly piqued when Mr. Gold wears a traditional Scottish outfit to his son's wedding.





	

She prefers the comfortable couch in her quiet home above the library and her ever growing collection of books to just about everything else, but Belle doesn't want to miss the wedding of Neal Gold and Emma Swan for the world. She has known both of them almost all her life, but the main reason that she has accepted their invitation has nothing to do with them.

Indeed, Belle has trouble remembering who is getting married in the first place when her eyes land on Mr. Gold during the party after the wedding. It's the first time that day that she sees more than the back of his upper half, and her mouth actually falls open when she takes in the sight of him from across the dance floor.

She may have told herself in the past that her feelings for the solitary and feared landlord are hardly more than a silly crush, but the butterflies in her stomach finally persuade her otherwise now that she witnesses him wearing a kilt.

The upper half of his clothing looks regular enough, if yet more formal than usual. The lower half however... well, it's not that it's not _formal_ , she supposes, quite the contrary. But there's a few inches between the lower hem of his tartan kilt and the high socks he wears beneath it, leaving a few tantalizing inches of his knees bare between them.

"You've got to wonder if he's wearing anything under that," Ruby giggles drunkenly, following her gaze.

"I'm sure he does," she replies tensely, not liking the speculative gleam in her friend's eyes at all.

"Oh come _on_ , Belle. You know what they say about Scots and their kilts."

"Either way, it's none of your business," she says, plucking the glass of champagne from the other woman's hands and taking a firm sip herself. "None of _our_ business, I mean."

"Come on girls, twenty bucks for the one who can find out whether Gold is a true Scotsman," Ruby loudly exclaims to anyone who can hear her – which are an awful lot of people.

"Ruby!" she hisses, scandalized and horrified on the landlord's behalf.

Before Belle can object, an alarming number of bridesmaids have focused their attention on the unsuspecting father of the groom. Gulping down the rest of the champagne, she observes with a growing sense of alarm how no less than three women head straight for him.

Mr. Gold's confusion is clear when they chat him up. For just a moment, she wonders how lonely he must be that he seems so thoroughly surprised that someone willingly makes small talk with him at all. Almost immediately, that question turns into disgust when the women all but swarm him and Ruby has the nerve to inch her hand underneath his kilt, right along his inner thigh.

He jerks away from the clearly unwanted touch, looking at the women in something closely resembling raw panic. He abruptly moves backwards, away from them, almost stumbling over his cane in the process.

It doesn't deter the women surrounding him, far from it. It only seems to encourage them more, hands invading his chest and sides. The landlord looks as if he wants to lash out at them, before thinking better of it. But there's nowhere else for him to go, for he's already backed up in a dark corner, the women blocking his way out.

Bile rising in her throat, Belle looks around frantically for something or someone to make an end to this. She knows only too well that quite a lot of people in town wouldn't care at all that the landlord is treated like this, but there's no sight either of the son or daughter-in-law who might actually help him.

She quickly concludes that if she wants Mr. Gold to be freed from this situation, she'll have to find a solution herself. She's on her way towards him before the thought has even fully registered, let alone before she has decided what she's actually going to do to stop the currently unreasonable women who are still swarming him.

"Come on Gold, don't be such a prude. If we don't like what we find, you'll be rid of us soon enough," Ruby purrs, a wolfish smile on her face. "And if we do... well, let's just say you might even get laid for once."

"Miss Lucas, let me remind you that I have no interest _whatsoever_ in anything you or..."

The landlord has folded his hands protectively in front of himself, but there's no point. He may have looked like a deer caught in the headlights before, but currently he's like a lamb on its way to the slaughter.

Knowing that this is no time for half-hearted measures, Belle marches towards the group and moves her way between the drunk women and Mr. Gold.

"Hands off," she says, not needing any effort to make the angry fire in her eyes convincing. "He's _mine_."

Wanting to get the two of them away from the dark corner with as little trouble as possible, she grasps the landlord's arm in her hand, making certain not to touch any more of his body in the process. Wanting to put him at ease, she makes eye contact with him, fervently hoping that there's something in her eyes which will tell him that she's here to help him rather than make things worse.

If only she could talk and actually tell him so... but she can't, not when the women are still surrounding them, looking at the two of them in bewilderment after her clearly highly unexpected claim.

To her relief, Mr. Gold nods infinitesimally and follows her, leaning as much on his cane as on her when they move away - towards the dance floor, it turns out. It's the only direction that isn't currently blocked by Ruby and the other bridesmaids, who stumble after them. Fortunately, it turns out that they aren't quite sober enough to manage to find their way through the mass of dancing bodies.

"Don't think you're going to win those twenty bucks, Belle!" Ruby hollers through the crowd. "We got to him first!"

"What are they talking about?!" Mr. Gold asks, his voice higher than she's ever heard it, looking at her in panic.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this... there is a bet about you and your kilt, and what you're wearing beneath it. Or rather, what you're _not_ wearing beneath it."

They may be able to talk freely now that they're on the dance floor, between dozens of couples who unknowingly keep the bridesmaids at bay, but the landlord looks yet more upset now that she has told him what is going on.

"I shouldn't have worn it," he mutters, agonized, all color drained from his face. "I knew that people probably wouldn't understand. But if I had known that _this_ would happen..."

"It's horrible that it has turned out like this, but none of this is your fault. Not _at all_. They'll probably come their senses once they've sobered up. In the mean time, I think you should be fine if you pretend to be with me... if you don't mind, of course!"

"I don't mind at all, Miss French. If anything, I'm beyond grateful that you're coming to my rescue, as it were."

"It's no problem at all. It's such a pity though that it appears to be necessary in the first place."

"Indeed."

Standing still in the middle of the dance floor without dancing, Belle is very much aware that this lacking display probably won't dissuade Ruby and the others. Still, actually dancing with her is probably the last thing that Mr. Gold would like to do.

"Maybe we should..."

The landlord trails off almost as soon as he has started speaking. But as he gestures weakly at the people surrounding them, she knows exactly what he's referring to.

"Yeah, we probably should," she agrees.

"Although, of course... you've done so much for me already, Miss French. I can hardly ask you to accompany me any longer, let alone in such a... physical manner.

"It's no problem at all!" she hurriedly cries out when she realizes that he apparently thinks that _she_ objects to dancing with _him_ rather than the other way around. "I'd _love_ to..."

Now she is the one who doesn't finish her sentence, realizing that being overenthusiastic at the prospect of dancing with Mr. Gold is the last thing that will comfort him.

"Well, in that case... if you truly don't object..."

"I don't. Not at all."

"I should probably also tell you that I'm a terrible dancer and..."

"It doesn't matter," she replies, trying to sound as reassuring as she can even as spots Ruby and two other bridesmaids start making their way into the crowd after all. "Just... let's just start slowly."

At that very moment, the current song comes to an end. Rather than starting another upbeat tune, the orchestra opts for a much slower melody. Belle can't help but feel secretly grateful for the change.

"Rest your hand on my waist and take my hand in yours?" she suggests.

When he nods in understanding and does as she advised, hanging his cane over his arm, she can't hold back a content sigh. She might have come here to see him in a different setting, one where he is not a mesmerizing businessman who seems to do his very best to utterly ignore her whenever she's anywhere near him, but this isn't at all like what she had in mind.

Indeed, no matter how much she would like to share _some_ sort of physical exploration with Mr. Gold, she doesn't want so under _these_ circumstances.

But when he sways gently along with the music, the two of them slowly moving together almost as if they simply like to do so, she quickly starts to enjoy their togetherness very, very much.

Forgetting about the bet and his kilt for a moment, she closes her eyes and basks in their closeness. There may be a respectable amount of distance still between them, but he _is_ holding one of her hands in his own, the other resting very lightly right above her hip.

He smells _incredible_ and if the situation weren't so precarious, if she weren't so uncertain of his acceptance of her, Belle would have thrown herself in his arms and bury her face in the crook of his neck to breathe him in as deeply as she can.

As it is, their dance is as conservative as it can be. Although she'd love to take this much, much further, she is thoroughly pleased regardless by is relative nearness and, especially, the lack of tension in his body when he dances with her.

However, right when she starts to savor the fact that he's this relaxed with _her_ , she feels him go taut again, her eyes bursting open to find out what may have caused this abrupt change.

"Miss Lucas is approaching us," he mutters right when Belle spots her as well.

" _Back off_!" she mouths at her friend, although the way Ruby's eyes are glazed over gives her the distinct impression that her plea goes entirely unnoticed.

"That doesn't look very convincing, Belle," Ruby cries out, giggling drunkenly. "Did you promise to give him half of money if he helps you win the bet?!"

"Put your hand lower," she whispers urgently to him, barely able to believe what she's saying.

For just a second, she doesn't know whether to be amused or endeared when he questioningly brings down his hand which is holding hers.

"I mean the other one," she adds, wiggling her hip. "Only if you're comfortable with that, of course."

"I... I suppose I am, but how can _you_ be fine with that?"

"You're by far the most polite partner I've ever danced with. I _trust_ you, Mr. Gold."

There's so much more she wants to tell him. If only there is a chance that he feels the same way as she does about him, that the merest hint of affection won't shock and probably disturb him.

Then again, it's a challenge in its own right to keep her expression neutral when he slowly and questioningly slides his hand down her waist, until his fingers are resting on her buttocks, lighter than a feather.

She almost throws herself in his arms after all when he makes a soft noise which appears to be wonder, almost as if he has never quite touched someone like this before. When he leans closer to her as well, Belle can't help but let go of his hand and rest her palm on his shoulder instead, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

She can't help but smile when he nods firmly, especially when she sees Ruby swaying on her feet right behind him. Her friend is obviously worse for wear, but she can't be bothered with that now.

Grateful that the bridesmaids help Ruby to sit down at one of the many tables, Belle smiles falters now that this farce probably isn't required any longer.

But although one look at his face tells her that Mr. Gold has also seen that the drunk women aren't bothering him any longer, he makes no move to make an end to their dance. Thrilled, she remains right where she is as well, sighing happily when he continues to dance with her.

"This is lovely," she dares to remark after a while, carefully watching his face to gauge his reaction.

"Yes... yes, it is," he mutters in response, his expression more tender than she has ever seen on anyone, let alone on the face of the so-called town monster.

As if somehow encouraged by her remark, he slightly leans into her. To inform her of her enthusiastic approval as subtly as she can, she questioningly wraps her arm around his neck. To her delight, he responses by pulling her ever so respectfully yet closer against him.

Almost giddy with this development, she can't stop herself from pressing her face against his neck, beyond thrilled that they're dancing chest-to-chest by now and that there isn't a hint of hesitance or rejection about him.

Feeling more relaxed and at the same time more excited than she has been for a long time, Belle commits as much of the experience to memory as she can. Despite these developments , she is quite certain that she'll never dance like this again, not with him or anyone else.

Breathing in his scent and basking in the heat of his body, the wiry muscles beneath her palms, he makes her happier yet by moving his other hand to her buttocks as well. She takes that as encouragement to wrap both her arms around his neck, only barely managing to hold back a moan when their bodies are flush against one another.

Opening her eyes briefly to assess their surroundings, Belle finds that Ruby and the bridesmaids are nowhere to be seen and that the other couples around them are too lost in each other to pay any attention to the highly unusual pair right beside them.

Closing her eyes again and snuggling yet closer to Mr. Gold, she wishes that this could go on forever, this heady mixture of being utterly at ease and increasingly aroused at the same time. Knowing now how he dances, she can't help but imagine how utterly wonderful it would be to _kiss_ this unexpectedly gentle yet so very exciting man, let alone...

Abruptly and without warning, the landlord takes his hands off her and takes a step back. Or at least, he tries to, for he can't move away while she's still holding on to him. Her gaze flying back to his face, she finds his eyes wide with panic.

"What is it?!" she cries out. "Is Ruby back?"

She instinctively remains close to him, if only to provide both a proverbial and literal shield in case Ruby and the others have returned. Shifting a little while doing so, Belle feels a stirring against her lower belly... and a fluttering inside her as well when she finds out that the landlord has apparently gotten _aroused_ while dancing with her.

For a fraction of a second, she wonders whether his cane has somehow gotten between their bodies. But when she glances down between them, there's no denying that the growing hardness she is feeling is him and him alone.

"Miss French, I... I beg your forgiveness," he brings out, looking paler yet than when Ruby and the other bridesmaids threw themselves at him. "I don't know how... there's no excuse whatsoever for..."

"I understand, Mr. Gold," she says stiffly, reluctantly entangling herself from him quickly after all because he looks so incredibly uncomfortable. Still, she can't look away from the increasingly tented fabric at the front of his kilt. "There was a lot of... female attention for you tonight. It makes perfect sense if you..."

She falters, unable to continue. She knows perfectly well that this only happened long after the other women were gone... that he got aroused only when he was with _her_. But if his horrified reaction is any indication, his physical response to her is entirely unwanted.

"No, Miss French, dearest..." He looks at her desperately, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. "It's not because of them. It's because of..."

"Because of what?" she whispers, bewildered that the usually so eloquent landlord is all but stuttering.

"It's _you_ ," he mutters, bowing his head as if thoroughly ashamed. "It's because of you."

Utterly bewildered, all Belle can do is stare at him, trying to process the apparent fact that _she_ unknowingly aroused him.

"I'm so deeply sorry, Miss French. I... I can't begin to apologize for confronting you with _this_ , especially because you were so very kind to..."

"I... please don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Why not?! I'm a hated and undeserving cripple twice your age... a perverted one at that, apparently."

"Mr. Gold, I appreciate your flattery, but I'm hardly twenty-four anymore. Besides, you didn't seem all that crippled to me when we just danced, let alone now. As for hated and undeserving... well, that's just a matter of opinion, isn't it?"

"But I... I don't understand. You've been so good to me, you _rescued_ me from... well. And what do I do in return? I 'thank' you in the worst way possible."

"Let's go outside to have this conversation," she suggests after she has assured herself that Ruby and the other bridesmaids still aren't in sight. He looks like he is about to start hyperventilating and she has quite some trouble breathing herself.

He nods in reaction, following her to the gardens behind the venue. She's grateful that he moves with her through the crowd, despite his still rather obvious predicament.

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't mind to see and feel you this way because I _like_ you?" she asks as she guides him to the forest beyond the garden after she finds the latter populated with amorous couples.

"I... Miss French, I like you too, but..."

"Wait, what? You _like_ me? But you don't ever talk to me... you usually make a point of making certain not to be even in the same room as me!"

"Of course! I _have_ to!"

"But... why?"

They have reached a quiet, moonlit clearing where they can talk in private. Which is a good thing, for it seems like she's going to need all of her attention for this increasingly bewildering conversation.

"Because you will never like me back!"

"But I... I just said I did," she brings out, her mind reeling. "I _do_! Very, very much so."

"But..."

He looks at her in utter disbelief, but she barely notices. All Belle can look at is the still tented fabric of his kilt, the material moving slightly as they talk.

"Mr. Gold," she says, trying to compose herself as she steps towards him, to control herself at the very least lest she accidentally makes him feel as uncomfortable as the other women did. "I _really_ like you... I have for quite some time now. Because of your distant behavior towards me, I was convinced that this feeling wasn't mutual. But now that we are here like this..."

She intently looks him in the eyes, her belly tightening at the heated if ever disbelieving look in them.

"I want you to know that I'd be _very_ happy to touch you if you want me too... and I want you to know that I _want_ to."

"You... you wouldn't be opposed to _touching_ me?" he whispers hoarsely.

"It would be my pleasure," she says, unable to think of anything except how badly she wants to touch him... right here, right now. "Of course, I'll stop the moment you tell me to... but I'm very much hoping you don't want me to stop."

Looking at him intently so she can withdraw at any sign of rejection or discomfort, she reaches for him, resting her hands tentatively on his hips, right on the edge of his kilt. Only _showing_ him might persuade him of her feelings for her.

His eyes are wide and all of him is ever so disbelieving, but clearly intrigued as well... and definitely aroused. Feeling very much the same, Belle begins to stroke his hips. The touch itself is relatively innocent, but his heat and the way he moans in response, combined with the fact that she is touching _Mr. Gold_ like this, make this by far the most tempting thing she's ever done.

Aware that she has caught her lower lip between her teeth only when he stares at it, she continues to stroke him lightly. It's mesmerizing how he gradually relaxes into her touch, while at the same time his desire clearly doesn't diminish.

Shifting her thighs instinctively when she takes in the sight of her hands mere inches away from the bulge at the front of his kilt, she slowly but surely moves lower, until she's fingering the hem of his kilt.

"Are you comfortable with this?" she asks as her fingertips inch underneath the edge.

He doesn't verbally reply, but the way the landlord firmly nods leaves no doubt whatsoever about his response.

Smiling, Belle slides both her hands underneath his kilt. He gasps her name when she begins to caress his bare skin. She reacts in a similar manner when she explores his heated skin and finds out just how wiry and firm his outer thighs feel.

Not allowing herself to wonder what a more inner part of him might be like, she keeps a close eye on his expression in order to spot any potential sign of discomfort immediately.

But rather than being bothered to be touched so intimately, he leans back against the tree that's right behind him and closes his eyes. It's beyond thrilling and equally arousing to see him like this, more vulnerable than she ever thought he could be, clearly finding delight in what she's doing.

Encouraged by his response, her fingertips venture higher and higher... without finding any hint of the underwear she was convinced to find underneath the kilt. Her hands having all but disappeared beneath the fabric, she looks at him in surprise.

"So that's what all of this has been about, all this time?!" he rasps, misinterpreting her shock.

"No, _no_ ," she quickly reassures him, horrified that he'd think that she's only doing this because of that awful bet. "For as far as I'm concerned, this is about something else entirely."

When he nods, a little hesitantly, she continues her journey. Subconsciously licking her lips, she reaches yet further than before, her fingers venturing over his buttocks.

"Is this all right?" she asks, receiving a timid nod of his head in response.

Intrigued and very much liking the feeling of his backside in her palms, she steps closer to him to get better access and experimentally massage him. His low moans are the loveliest sound she's ever heard and his hardness all but pressing into her stomach is yet more enjoyable.

Still, no matter how lovely it is to touch him like this, there's something she'd yet rather do... but something she can't just initiate.

"Mr. Gold, I'd be happy to continue doing this for a long some time, but there's something else I'd like to do yet more."

"What else could you possibly..."

His eyes flutter open, following her gaze when she meaningfully looks down at his hardness between them.

"You are actually willing to..."

" _Very_ willing."

He is practically sputtering when he looks up at her face and back down again.

"Would you like me to?" she asks, wanting his explicit permission before touching him yet more intimately.

"I do, _yes_. It's beyond me why you would want to touch _me_ , but... yes, I'd like you to. I'd _really_ like you to. _Please_. But I... I should warn you that I'm not much and I'll probably hardly..."

Wholly persuaded and not wanting him to doubt the way he apparently does, Belle gradually migrates her right hand still underneath his kilt from his buttock to his front. He _keens_ when she brushes her fingers along his length.

A delicious ache beginning to develop between her legs. Thrilled to be able to do this, she runs her fingertips along him a few times, getting both of them somewhat used to the feeling. Every bit of pressure has him groaning and gasping, surprising her by just how very sensitive the usually so very solitary and distant landlord turns out to be.

Belle reaches for him with her other hand as well, experimentally fondling his base. His mouth opening in a soundless yelp as she does so, his head falling back against the tree trunk behind her.

"I'm sorry, I..." he brings out, backing away from her. "I can't."

"What do you mean?! I thought you were... you're not enjoying this?!"

"I _am_ , don't you see? I'm enjoying this far too much."

"Well, in that case... what's the problem? Why don't you want me to go on?"

"I won't last," he replies, sounding anguished, "and I can barely keep standing."

"You don't have to last, do you? If anything, it's flattering that you react to me like this. Besides, you'll spare me an aching wrist."

"So you're saying that you don't mind about that?!"

"Not at all," she replies softly, wondering why he is so worried about this.

"That... that is a great relief, Miss French. Still, I'll probably collapse yet more quickly than I..."

"You don't have to stand like this," she says, although a quick survey of the area informs her that sitting down on the damp ground wouldn't be pleasant either. "Let's try something else?"

Belle encourages him to step closer to her and wrap both his arms around her while she turns both of them around. This way, he is leaning on her as she in turn braces herself against the tree trunk, both of them standing much more stably than before, with the added benefit that he's also pressed firmly against her.

"Let's try again? Just hold on to me."

" _Yes_ ," he rasps, his mouth almost right next to her ear as he rests his head on her shoulder.

Her breath quickening further in excitement, she reaches underneath his kilt again. This time, she takes his length carefully in her hand, marveling at the way he sighs in pleasure when she does so. Wanting him to feel yet a whole lot better than this, she begins to stroke him carefully.

"Tell me if there's something you'd like me to do for you," she encourages him.

"Could you, perhaps... All of this is _heavenly_ , but..."

"What would you like instead?"

"A little bit looser? And slower? Please?"

"Of course," she murmurs, loving how open he is about his preferences now.

Her grip as loose and slow as it can possibly be, she can't imagine that this brings him what he needs. Still, Mr. Gold is panting and groaning in her arms, becoming less and less composed.

Heat pooling in her belly and between her legs, she buries her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, eagerly breathing in his scent as she stimulates him. Spreading the moisture gathering at his tip to make her grip yet smoother, she senses that the end is nearing.

"That's it," she whispers to him. "Just let it feel good."

One more stroke and he is _whimpering_ , his lower half jerking when he spends himself over her hand and the inside of his kilt. She likes to think that she can feel the hot dampness through the layers of clothing between them.

Committing the feeling of Mr. Gold coming undone like this to her memory to the best of abilities, she becomes only more aroused herself when he utters her name – her _first_ name – in the throes of his passion.

"That's it," she whispers encouragingly, continuing to stroke him.

Eventually he slightly removes himself from her with clear reluctance, prompting her to let go of him as well. Her hand delightfully slick, she is rather pleased that his kilt is stained, showing evidence of what just took place between them.

"Miss French, I... I can't tell you how much this means to me. I can't thank you enough for your... generosity. I can't imagine that there's anything I can do for you which might make your trouble worthwhile, but if there's anything you need, anything at all... please don't hesitate to ask."

"Well, I do have something in mind."

"Name it," he suggests rather curtly, as if this is a deal being struck rather than... well, whatever is going on between them exactly.

Rather than speaking, she takes his hand and guides it to her thigh, wordlessly suggesting to him to touch her in a similar way as she just did for him.

"I'd _really_ like you to return the favor," she whispers, throbbing with arousal at the prospect of being pleasured by him in return.

He makes a sound of complete disbelief, which turns into another groan when she guides his fingers underneath her skirt.

"You'd actually like me to... _touch_ you?!"

"Very much, so, yes."

"I... I _want_ to, but I've never actually..."

He sounds pained, but his fingertips are inching upwards along her inner thigh on their own accord. No matter how much she'd like to find out more about the landlord's personal history, she isn't going to make any careful inquiries right now.

Instead, she locks her eyes with him as she guides his fingers inside her panties, gasping when he finds her wetness. All but drowning in his eyes, she shows him how she likes to be touched, delighted when he knows very soon how to make her moan without her help, stoking the fire inside of her.

"You're amazing at this," she brings out as he rubs her exactly the right way.

She has always suspected that he would be a tentative and generous lover, that his mere nearness would drive her half mad with desire, but _this_... the reality of him pleasuring her is something else entirely.

Paying closer attention to her and her reactions than anyone in her life has ever remotely done before, Mr. Gold has her clinging to him as his almost tangibly increasing confidence has him touching her yet more pleasantly.

"Sweetheart..."

The reverent whisper, along with the slightly firmer pressure of his fingers, has her shuddering in his arms as he sends her over the edge, his name on her lips. One of his hands supporting her weight, he continues to stroke her lightly, prolonging her pleasure.

"That was... incredible," he whispers, smiling for the first time that night... or ever in her presence, really.

"To say the least," she remarks softly, reaching for him to trail her fingertips along his beautiful face.

"Thank you so much for letting me do this. I shall cherish this for the rest of my life."

"That feeling is mutual. Which makes me wonder... the two of us... We could always... well, you know, try this again. Together."

Belle would have loved to proposition him much more eloquently, but there's only so much she can manage when Mr. Gold is still _smiling_ at her while her entire body is tingling with the pleasure he gave her.

"I'd really, really like to do that."

"Me too."

"If it isn't too presumptions for me to suggest..." he says, looking at her questioningly as he licks his lips in a seemingly wholly subconscious manner, "would you care to accompany me to my home? We'd be comfortable there; we could clean up and..."

"And find out if there are more incredible things we can do together?" she happily suggests.

"Yes."

"There's nothing I'd rather do," she says, leaning in to him to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"We can leave right now; I can give you a ride to my home, if you like."

"That would be really nice. I don't think there's any point in trying to say goodbye to anyone now anyway."

"Indeed. My son is probably far too... occupied to realize that I've left," he says, glancing down at his no longer tented but still no less sinful kilt. "Besides..."

"I can text him for you from the car," she offers, at this point much rather texting Neal than Ruby after what her friend did to the landlord in her drunken state. Like Mr. Gold, she isn't looking forward either to interact with other people while the two of them are in this state of disarray.

"I'd appreciate that, thank you," he says, despite everything already sounding quite tense once more.

"Once we're at your home... let's just see what happens," she reassures him. "So far that has worked out rather well after all and I see no reason why that would change."

Mr. Gold doesn't verbally confirm that sentiment, but the way he tentatively smiles at her once more and offers her his arm gives her all the verification she needs.


End file.
